


when there is no peace

by kyrilu



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Laundry, M/M, Murder, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 04:58:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1592471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrilu/pseuds/kyrilu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wonders if he'll be able to get the blood off of Matthew's clothes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when there is no peace

**Author's Note:**

> This is kinda strange, lol, and I think everyone should read drinkbloodlikewine's laundry drabble instead: http://drinkbloodlikewine.tumblr.com/post/83960685454/oh-boy-u-want-fluff-matt-not-knowing-how-to-do

His battered washing machine and dryer are sequestered in a small room that is more like a closet. Old, mangled fishing equipment sits on a lopsided shelf, next to a tub of detergent; chewed up dog toys and broken collars are on the straighter shelf underneath. There’s a small window in the wall, letting a degree of sunlight stream through.

It smells like dust in here. Will reaches to open the window a couple of inches, and watches, for a second, the grasses outside, bending and rippling.

He wonders if he’ll be able to get the blood off of Matthew’s clothes.

(He could burn it, he supposes, but he remembers a windy day behind his house, looking at the clouds with Matthew. Will is holding onto the white strings of Matthew’s burgundy sweatshirt and kissing him, keeping them both still. He thinks that this is Matt’s favorite sweater.)

Methodically, Will begins to sort through the week’s dirty laundry. He’s half-assed it before, exhausted after cases, but then his white clothes ended up getting dyed with color, and it’s no good to wear any more. Sorting is a calming task – fumbling through sweat-drenched t-shirts that he has worn throughout nightmares, setting aside his green jacket that has the mixed scents of water and fish, struggling to hold back a flush when he handles pairs of underwear.

This is a brief moment of isolation. Reflection. Matthew is sleeping in the bedroom, having returned early in the morning, covered in blood. Even though his hoodie is already red, it now is darker, sprinkled with stains. Will didn’t say anything when Matthew came back. Will is waiting for the moment that Jack Crawford will come knocking to say that escaped prisoner Matthew Brown has now succeeded in killing Hannibal Lecter, and he won’t suspect a thing.

But Jack isn’t here yet. The afternoon is warm, and Will turns Matthew’s hoodie over in his hands. Wants to lift it close so he can smell the rust of blood and Matthew. He doesn’t, though, just unfurls the rumpled sleeves, and starts to load the white clothing in the machine first. Socks, briefs, t-shirts.

It feels like the sun is shifting, illuminating the room, heating it up a little more. Will applies detergent. Bleach. He doesn’t think how Lecter must have looked before Matthew put the final bullet in – he’s predictable, it was definitely a bullet. He doesn’t think how fierce and dark Matthew must have looked, set aflame with his terrifying devotion, devotion that Will twists and steals and prizes, because he _needs_ something, and now here’s a bird offering himself up as an angel.

He turns on the washing machine. He picks up Matthew’s hoodie and curls his fingers around the hood’s white strings, remembering the feel of Matthew’s mouth.

The sun is warm on his skin, and his eyes follow the patterns of dust motes in the air. The grasses are still bowing to the wind outside, and maybe Matthew deliberately posed Hannibal Lecter’s body in some way, a rare behavior of a spare number of killers, but Will knows he’s the type.

Later, Matthew finds Will sleeping against the washing machine. Matthew’s sweatshirt is a pillow, a wreath of burgundy and black, and Will wakes up when Matthew puts a kiss on his cheek.

**Author's Note:**

> _She found Starling in the warm laundry room, dozing against the slow rump-rump of a washing machine in the smell of bleach and soap and fabric softener. Starling had the psychology background - Mapp's was law - yet it was Mapp who knew that the washing machine's rhythm was like a great heartbeat and the rush of its waters was what the unborn hear - our last memory of peace._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> -Silence of the Lambs, Thomas Harris.


End file.
